


Got Lost

by Lushimatsu



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Domestic, Alternate Universe - World War II, Attempt at Humor, Awkward Crush, Bittersweet Ending, Blood and Injury, Brotherly Bonding, Developing Friendships, Eastern Front (World War II), Fluff and Angst, Getting to Know Each Other, Historical References, I Tried, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 11:48:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29063832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lushimatsu/pseuds/Lushimatsu
Summary: During World War II, Alfred, a pilot, was forced to land while passing through the Eastern Front. He was lucky enough to meet a group of Soviet troops heading to the front.
Relationships: America/Russia (Hetalia), America/USSR | Soviet Union (Hetalia)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	1. The beginning

**Author's Note:**

> In case anyone is confused, Illya is the fan fiction setting of the Soviet Union (also the setting used in this article), and Ivan is a different person.  
> But I'm still using Ame/Rus in Tag, hope this helps.

_War is never merciful to anyone._

When his mother tried to dissuade him with these words, Alfred only smiled lightly.

"If I can go and save more people, why not?" he calmed his mother.

At that time, he naively thought that going to war was patriotic, fighting for freedom and peace. Not realizing that this could be a life and death struggle. 

He was actually a selfish person.

Alfred had dreamed of becoming a pilot so many times that he had privately participated in so-called air force training a few years earlier - from Arthur and Matthew, who were visiting him, and, of course, from his parents - without anyone in the military even noticing that he had lied about his age.

Now that he had the opportunity to go to Europe and help the poor Army on the ground, promote American culture, and save Europe (for added value, of course), how could he pass it up?

"I'll be fine, Mom."

Pretending he didn't see her tears, those were his last words before he left the house.

* * *

Now Alfred shivered as he stared at the fuel gauge descending in a straight line, with the cold wind still blowing in all its forms across the endless plain outside. Even in this situation, he still had time to think about his time in America while the plane was taxiing.

First, he wished he could have landed properly, a crash or something would have been too _bad_.

Second, he wished he had flown in the right direction and not landed directly on German territory, which would also have been a disaster.

He was cold and hungry, and although he landed without incident, there was almost nothing here but a meadow and some snow.

He had taken everything on board that was useful for his survival - a pocket knife, a tattered map, a flashlight, a water bottle from Will - and he fumbled through his pockets, fortunate that he hadn't lost his grandfather's Stars and Stripes pin, which his mother had given him. He knew it was a little redundant to carry it, but the "Jones" engraving on it had convinced his mother that it would bring good luck, and Alfred carried it with him.

At this point he regretted not asking the others for a compass, he had no idea where to go to have a better chance of survival. He casually found a tree that would serve as a shelter and decided to spend the coming night first.

Well, he forgot to mention - _it's not any better_ to meet angry, impatient, probably drunk and unable to understand English _Russians_.

After a very cold night, Alfred could not, and did not dare to sleep. He spent almost the whole night staring at the stars. In the morning, he couldn't help but doze off and sleepily noticed a group of people slowly approaching in the distance.

He spent a few seconds thinking about whether it was better to hide or to go forward for help, until he could vaguely make out some Russian words and decided to get their attention.

"Oh... _Shit_. None of you guys understand English?"

And that's _what_ happened.

Alfred was glad that he wasn't treated like a German - he had good reasons to believe it would have been worse than the crash - but he was frustrated that no one could understand what he was saying. The gesticulation only worked at first, and when he tried to ask where this was, no one answered the question he wanted to know, and the tongue sounds only gave him a headache.

At this point he regretted not learning a little Russian, or German. French is useless here. Thanks, Arthur, no irony intended.

But they were eager to help, Alfred could tell. They were talking about something in fluent Russian (maybe, he couldn't understand it anyway), and when someone said something like "Ukraine" in English, he was so moved he almost cried.

A man approached from behind the crowd, and he seemed to ask what was going on here.

"American" Alfred could recognize the sound similar to the English language. People made way for the man, and for a moment Alfred felt like a slaughtered animal, or some kind of display, as everyone stared at him.

_Take a deep breath, relax. It's okay._ He reassured himself. _At least he's not dead, which is a good thing._

Alfred finally turned his attention to the man, who was wearing a army cap, which made him stand out - but he was wearing the same uniform as the others, so he was probably not an officer or general of too high a rank - Alfred briefly surveyed. The red scarf, his eyes gradually went up, and then he froze.

How _rare_ are red eyes? No, no, no, Wait. _Do eyes of this color exist?_

 _Platinum colored hair_. Wait, this hair color is also not _common_ , Right? It was really like the color of precious metal - he remembered in retrospect that the main source of platinum includes Russia - even though it almost blended in with the snowy landscape, it was still clearly visible under the dark blue military cap, and the red eyes were a stark contrast.

"Name?"

He walked up to Alfred, taller than he thought he would be, but walking as lightly as a panther. His eyes were sharp, his voice was soft in contrast, and his questioning was as direct as he seemed to be.

 _God, his eyelashes are long_ \- that was the second sentence that came to Alfred's mind. His English was better than he expected, and although there was a slight accent, at least it didn't sound too bad.

"Alfred." He finally didn't have to be an illiterate person anymore. _Thank God, there is someone here who understands English._

"... And you are?"

"Illya." He replied.

The Russian, no, the Soviet did not seem to understand his change of mood, his eyes were somewhat indifferent compared to the conversation he just had with the others, as if Alfred's presence here was entirely expected.

"We're going west, to the front." It was as if he was saying something that could not be more commonplace, and only then did Illya look him in the eye.

"Once there, there _should_ be a way to get you back to where you came from." After a pause, he added.

Alfred joined their march as a matter of course, staying as close to Illya as he could.

Because he sometimes needed help translating, sometimes he needed to hide from the curious eyes of the others - on a more practical level, Alfred's brilliant blond hair was a bit too striking, so it was wise to hide behind him (which may not be accurate, considering that Illya had a much rarer hair color) --But Illya doesn't pay much attention to him, so it looks like Alfred is talking to himself.

_Screw it._ He's pretty sure no one can understand what he's saying _anyway_.

Fortunately, within fifteen minutes, Alfred found someone to talk to _besides_ Illya.

His name is Pavel, his short brown hair was naturally curly, and his eyes were a nice olive green - that's a more _normal_ color, isn't it? - He looked unusually young, he should be a boy in college for the essay trouble. At least not in this place, with a rifle in his hand.

"You can call me Pasha, it's more intimate." He smiled kindly, and Alfred found Pasha much more talkative than the reticent Illya.

As expected, Pavel had _just_ finished college. He spoke many languages, Ukrainian, Polish, Estonian, German, English and a little French.

"Oh, my grandmother is Estonian, my grandfather is Polish - but I grew up in Ukraine - and my father is Russian. And then we moved to Leningrad when I was about eight years old." Pavel's accent is heavier than Illya and he speaks faster, but within Alfred's comprehension.

"I learned German for interest, English for strategic reasons." He adds, in a light-hearted way.

Alfred did not ask him _why_ he joined the army, just as he did not ask Illya. _The answer is obvious._


	2. The Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've tried my best on the historical part, so I hope you can enjoy reading it.  
> p.s. Originally I wanted to set the time in late 1942, but found that the time simply did not fit. Now the approximate time point is to fall in the fall or winter of 1943, I hope there are not too many bugs.

They arrived at a village Alfred couldn't read the name of - Pavel had done his best for it, he just couldn't remember the six syllables - and it was empty, as if everyone had left in a hurry.

Night was approaching, and they broke down a few crates and built a fire. The river was still frozen, and Alfred felt like he was going to freeze to death. Instead of sitting by the fire, Illya stood at a distance talking to another man, and Alfred couldn't help but notice him - after all, Illya was a bit too conspicuous.

The good news was that he had met another person. He was a friend of Pavel's, Alexander - or Sasha, as he looked much older - and although he didn't speak English, Pavel could translate for him.

"Can I ask you a question?" In fact, most of their conversations began with Alfred's remark, so he didn't bother to count how many questions he asked, "Is Illya always like _this_?"

_Like what?_

Although he didn't say it, Alfred could almost tell by the expression on Pavel's face that he was in doubt, so he changed the question, "Has he always been... So silent?"

The implication was that it was difficult to get along, but he didn't expect Pavel to get it.

"Not really, I guess." They were silent and looked at each other for about two seconds. Alexander said something in Russian, and Pavel just pursed his lips.

"... Ilya is actually very nice."

"I doubt it." Alfred said sarcastically.

"He's just not very good at expressing it." Pavel said disapprovingly, but there was no sign of condemnation in his expression. He's too mild in nature, _he shouldn't be here_ , he'll only suffer and even get hurt here. Alfred thought silently as he looked at his hesitant expression.

"I'm not sure he'll be happy to hear me say this, but--"

According to Pavel, Ilya had a younger brother and older brother, who both lived in Moscow before the revolution. His brother, Stepan - in contrast to Ilya - was a conservative who supported the royal family. After the revolution, Moscow fell into turmoil and Stepan never returned home. Left to their own devices, Illya and Ivan survived the famine and purges that followed a few years later.

But then the war started. Ivan and his cousins moved to the rear and they crossed the Ural Mountains to the steppes of Siberia. Illya chose to stay in the front line and fight.

"Before Stepan... left, Illya wasn't like this." Pavel added for Alexander, his tone full of sadness.

"You knew him for a long time?" Alfred glanced over to where Illya was standing - maybe 16 feet away, not too close or too far - and the man he had just spoken to had already left.

" _Long enough._ " Alfred was a little surprised when Alexander replied in English, even though it wasn't very good.

He had thought that Alexander was completely clueless about English, but considering that he had a friend like Pavel (who was full of linguistic talent), this seemed unsurprising.

He learned that Illya, while not having a higher rank, is like the equivalent of a captain in this troop.

"We trust him and respect him. Illya is very capable," he said. "And he respects us, too. There's almost no disagreement with his leadership."

Alfred mentioned Illya's cap, and Pavel just shrugged.

"What about the scarf?" That conspicuous color _must_ have meant something besides warmth. Alfred surmised.

"I'm not sure," Pavel looked at Alexander, "Sasha said he heard his brother gave it to him." He added.

It was completely dark, and many of the men were already planning to rest as the night watchman walked into the night with his gun. Alfred stood up and watched as Alexander pulled the drowsy Pavel aside.

"Hey."

The figure did not look real in the night, Illya was sitting alone by the riverbank, and from this angle it looked as if he was staring at the river in contemplation. Alfred vaguely remembered that Pavel had mentioned the name of this river, but he could not recall it.

Walking up behind Illya, Alfred tried not to seem like he was trying to start a conversation, deliberately not fixing his eyes in one place - it worked, at least every time when he was a student.

"Everyone is gathered at the fire, what are you doing here?"

Illya turned his head and gave him a cold glance, not enough light for Alfred to actually see his expression. The side of his face was blurred by the distant light of the fire, and his red scarf almost obscured half of his face.

Alfred did not retreat from his eyes, he stared straight into Illya's red eyes. Somehow Alfred got the courage to take a few steps forward instead, keeping a distance that would not feel offensive.

_Ilya didn't seem very concerned when he was talking anyway_ , so there's no reason for him to _start "caring"_ at this point. Alfred thought with a little glee.

"So what are you doing here then?" He said, sounding tired and annoyed at the interruption.

"It would be hypocritical to say _I care about you_." Alfred tried not to sound sarcastic, more like friendly chitchat, though he spoke against his will.

"But it's cold and dark - your friends are worried about you. Are you sure you want to stand here alone?"

It's true. From the moment he left the campfire, Alfred could clearly feel the loss of heat. His hands, which had barely warmed up, began to lose their sensation again.

"I grew up here. This cold is _Nothing_." Ilya looked offended, but he only frowned slightly.

"It's not wise to give too much of your heart here."

Alfred looked at him quietly, mistakenly feeling his _vulnerability_.

He almost immediately thought of Pavel, the youth who was always smiling - _so he had found out._ Alfred thought Illya was treating him like _Air_. There was a short silence, and just as he began to feel uneasy, Illya finally got up and walked past him toward the campfire without looking at him again.

Alfred knew that this represented a _concession_ from Illya, so he took it as a victory for himself. He turned around and followed him cheerfully.

* * *

The night passed quickly.

He dreamed that the war was over.

He returned to America and met Matthew and his parents. Their smiles were so genuine that Alfred couldn't help but smile too. The sky was blue and the place was warm even in winter, without all the _goddamn_ snow.

Unlike his almost sleepless first night, Alfred feels safe here for no reason - he doesn't even remember how he slept - and he is dazed when he hears _someone_ calling him. He blinked to try to regain his vision, but a sudden change in light made him unable to see anything.

"Alf, wake up, we should go." He recognized the voice, it was Pavel.

Alfred responded vaguely, grabbing his hand as he struggled to his feet.

He saw the misty gray sky. Of course, he is _still_ here. _The war is not over yet._

 _But it is much better._ Alfred thought happily. Although Illya was like a stick-in-the-mud - for which he believed he had found a way to cope - at least Pavel is there for him on this difficult journey, and he is a good confidant.

**Author's Note:**

> I tried my best to make this article historically accurate, but there were some details I couldn't really find...  
> So, if there are any bugs, please let me know!
> 
> p.s.  
> This is a trial article, so I'll be writing it very slowly.  
> Since I am not a native English speaker, if there are any grammatical errors (or sentences that sound strange), please let me know!


End file.
